"And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be? ... You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream! If that there King was to wake you'd go out -- bang! -- just like a candle!"

"Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."

"Well it's no use your talking about waking him when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

Monday, December 11, 2006

week four, winter break

Listen, I haven't said: if you're in Tucson I want to see you. But I meant to. Please write me, and I'll send you a phone number. My cell doesn't work so well here, so if you've left messages for me there, I might've missed them. I know there are messages waiting, but my bars are too low to retrieve them.

***

"This is my home": a complicated claim. Towards origin and tendency, towards a knowledge so often mistaken--out of comfort perhaps--for identity, though so thoroughly removed from its designation. "This is who I am." Or to view the claim as we actually intend it hour to hour, "whom," rather: "I am whom this is," where the question of who--ostensibly grounded in an object position, "whom," against an existential verb suggesting otherwise--provides the illusion that "I" answers "who" in matters of existence: who are you? I am who. With whom am I speaking? With me, the I whom speaks. And where are you? I am here. This is my home. By which point the complex of grammatical designations needed simply to point to intentionality, an intentionality--a speaking self--an I whom am me--point also towards the inherency of place, location, space, temporality, other, in the telling of "am" before ever arriving at "my," where, in a matter of speaking, "home" becomes obsolete, an emphatic redundancy laying claim to all that fails to clear my wake. The emphasis, you ask? The more you I am, the more me that is, with two diverging possibilities: The Less You, or The More Us.